


Always Welcome

by tuesday



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: College Student Peter Parker, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: In which Peter starts college, accidentally gets drunk, continues to deal with the fallout from Infinity Wars, and falls into a relationship with Tony Stark.—"No hospitals," Peter insisted.  "I'm just—calling a friend.  To come get me."





	Always Welcome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearnedFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts).



> This is future fic that presumes the whole Snap thing gets fixed. It starts with Peter at NYU and everyone alive.
> 
> Your letter was a delight, LearnedFoot! This is a treat playing off the following two prompts: "Either gets drunk and makes a move they wouldn’t normally make" and "Learning to deal post-IW." I tried to include some of your other likes, too.
> 
> Please see the end notes for content advisories.

Up until college, Peter was good. He didn't drink, and all of his sneaking out and lying had to do with being a superhero. It was maybe easier than with other people. For one thing, Peter wasn't invited to a lot of parties in high school. For another, Peter had this theory. With his increased metabolism, it made perfect sense to him that he wouldn't be able to get drunk. What was the point of drinking if it wasn't even going to do anything?

By the time Peter discovered he was really, terribly wrong and his supercharged metabolism meant he actually got drunk faster, he'd already downed eight Jell-O shots and two Solo cups of the mysterious purple tub juice and was drunk-dialing Tony Stark. It was still only eight o'clock. He'd joined the party an hour ago. Absolutely no one was going to be impressed with his planned party trick of eating Jell-O shots like they were, well, Jell-O considering he was sprawled out on a stranger's bedroom floor and contemplating climbing into the closet, where at least he'd have more walls to brace himself against when the floor kept trying to throw him off.

"You are seriously wasted," said Li, the cute frat boy who'd invited him. "Do we need to take you to the hospital?"

"No hospitals," Peter insisted. "I'm just—calling a friend. To come get me."

"Tony Stark can't come to the phone right now, because he has vastly more important things to be doing on a Friday night than answering the phone, but if you leave a short message—"

Peter made an unhappy sound and wondered if Ned would drive down from Boston to take care of him. He tried to remember how far away Boston was. They were on the same coast. It couldn't be that far.

"I'm just fucking with you, kid. What's up? I thought you were taking the night off to do college student things, maybe make some bad decisions. Please tell me you're not in the library right now, because that is a bad decision I don't think I could support."

"I'm not in the library," Peter said obediently.

"Are you—are you drunk?" Tony asked disbelievingly.

"Pretty sure that's what's making the room spin."

"When I gave you my private number, I never imagined it would be so you could drunk dial me."

"That's a failure of your imagination." Peter idly wondered if that was a first for Tony. He liked the idea of being Tony's first. "Was it good for you?"

"What? No, don't explain. I can't believe I'm about to ask this, but how much have you had to drink? Are you being safe? Be sure to drink water if you don't want to wake up with a hangover."

"Is that your friend?" Li asked. He snatched the phone from Peter and danced out of reach before he could summon the necessary coordination to take it back. "Hey, if you could come make sure your buddy doesn't die of alcohol poisoning in my best friend's bedroom, that would be greatly appreciated. Dude cannot handle his liquor."

Li had the phone, but Peter heard Tony's voice clearly. It was flat, unamused. "Really."

"Really. I warned him the Jell-O shots were made with Everclear and he ate a bunch of them. And I have no idea what went in the purple punch, but I'm pretty sure one of them could knock me on my ass, and he drank two. That's not even counting whatever he was pregaming to make it hit this fast." Li sighed. "I can't make him go to the hospital, but he can't stay here."

"Give him the phone."

Li gave Peter the phone. "Heeeeeeeey, you don't have to come. I can walk home."

"He can't walk," Li said loudly. "He is flopping like a landed fish on the carpet."

"Here's what's going to happen. You are going to have your charming friend accompany you to the bathroom to throw up whatever you haven't yet. I am going to be there in less than an hour to take you home. You are not going to drink _anything else_ unless your friend has confirmed first that it's water."

"He's not my friend," Peter said.

"Fuck you, Parker," Li said cheerfully.

"He seems to be your best friend there. Let him help you. I'll be there soon."

"You really don't have to come." Peter had been thinking Tony would—would send a car or something. Actually, Peter wasn't entirely sure what he was thinking. His roommate was out, and they didn't have that sort of relationship. MJ was in California. Ned was in Boston. "I should have gone to MIT."

"I can say from experience there are parties there, too." In the background, Peter could hear the sound of Tony's footsteps, rushed, then leather sliding over cotton. Tony reiterated, "Go to the bathroom with your friend. Throw up. Stay there until I come get you. I'm not going to be happy if I end up having to search whatever frat row NYU has to find you."

"How are you going to find me in the first place?"

"I was just going to have FRIDAY track your phone, but you still need to stay where you have at least one person looking out for you." Tony's voice was quiet as he said, "Please. For me."

Peter wasn't sure he was making it anywhere without outside interference, but he promised, "I'll wait for you."

"Good boy." Peter was really glad Tony couldn't see his face turn bright red. "See you soon."

Li helped Peter to the bathroom to throw up, then sat on the front stoop pouring bottled water down him until Tony showed up in one of his ridiculously flashy cars, this one in orange. At least it wasn't the armor. Li gaped. "Please tell me that's your friend."

Peter couldn't tell if he felt better or worse in the time that had passed. It had been a lot less than an hour. "That's my friend."

Tony got out and marched up to them. "I told myself I wouldn't judge, because I have definitely done worse in my time, but to be perfectly honest, I am judging here."

"Your friend is _Tony Stark_?" Li said, even though Tony was standing right there.

"Right, yeah, hi. Nice to meet you." Tony waved a hand impatiently. "Thanks for taking care of this idiot."

"You're, uh, you're welcome?" Li elbowed Peter in the side. "You are definitely explaining this later."

"Help me get him in the car?" Between Li and Tony, it was easier to make it into the passenger side of the car than it had been to make it through the house. Peter only felt like he was going to pitch over a couple times. Tony reached across Peter's lap, ignoring the sound he made, to buckle him in. "Thanks again," Tony said in clear dismissal to Li. To Peter, he said, "If you need to throw up in the next two minutes, you do it out the window. I'm not going to be happy if you get sick all over the upholstery. I know I have a plastic bag around here somewhere."

Peter accepted the bag once Tony unearthed it from the tiny trunk. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. Tony got in on the driver's side. The car pulled away from the curb, and Peter's stomach lurched, but settled after a moment.

"Awfully quiet there," Tony said, and it took Peter a moment to place that wavering note in his voice as concern.

"I feel really stupid," Peter admitted.

"Gotta admit, this is not what I was expecting from you. Me? Yeah, sure. But this is new territory for you."

"I didn't think I could get drunk, because superpowers."

Tony snorted. "This is why you should have done the full power testing."

Considering the last time they'd done limited power testing Peter had, um, experienced some inappropriate reactions to Tony telling him to do things and praising him and saying, "I know you can take more," there was no way Peter was doing further testing. As neutrally as he could manage, Peter said, "I'll keep that in mind."

Tony turned the wrong way at the end of the block.

"My dorm's that way." Peter pointed, though Tony didn't take his eyes off the road.

"I didn't drive all this way to put you to bed and tell you to sleep it off. You're coming home with me."

Something swooped in Peter's stomach. It wasn't anything like nausea this time. He watched the street lights and the blur of passing buildings. Then, because Tony was focused on driving, he turned the other way and studied Tony's face, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the finely sculpted goatee with hints of grey, the way the headlights briefly illuminated his profile before it was cast into darkness again. Tony caught Peter staring when they were stopped at a red light, and Peter decided he was too drunk to care.

Tony's smile was lightly quizzical. "Something on my face?"

Peter reached out to poke his cheek. "Nope."

Tony's smile morphed into a grin. Peter felt his muscles shift under his finger. "This is your first time drinking, huh?"

"What makes you say that?" Peter asked, which was probably better than the barely averted, _Make it good for me_.

"You get a little better at curbing your impulses as you get a bit more experienced."

Considering Peter hadn't licked into the shadow of Tony's mouth or climbed over the gear shaft and into Tony's lap, he thought he was doing fine. He kept doing fine through the rest of the drive and through Tony undoing his seatbelt and through Tony putting his hands on Peter's body to help shift him out of the car. He was fine all the way through the elevator ride, face pressed into Tony's neck, breathing in the musk of Tony's skin, the faint hint of motor oil that followed him around. Peter didn't litter kisses along Tony's throat or dig his teeth into the tendon of Tony's neck that was pressed temptingly into Peter's cheek. Peter was doing fine all the way until they reached Tony's bedroom.

"Sorry, but the only other place I've got set up for monitoring vitals is the workshop, and I figured you'd be more comfortable here."

"Going to tuck me into bed, Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, sure. Need a story, too?" Tony helped Peter sit on the bed, then knelt at his feet. Peter was glad for the flush from the alcohol, because there was no way out of this that didn't end in his face burning. Tony undid the laces of Peter's sneakers and eased each off his feet. His fingers brushed Peter's ankles and the tops of his feet. "Can you get the rest of it or did you need more help?"

"Need isn't the word I'd use." Peter tried and failed to navigate the intricacies of his belt, a usually straightforward experience. His fingers refused to cooperate. "Okay, maybe need is the word I'd use."

Tony was laughing at him. He wasn't laughing out loud, but his eyes were crinkled at the corners, and his shoulders were shaking. "Here."

Tony got the belt on the first try, kindly ignoring Peter's sudden inhale at Tony's hands at his hips, sliding the leather out of Peter's belt loops. His knuckles brushed against Peter's sides and stomach. Tony popped Peter's button for him, too, but paused, frozen, at Peter's whimper when Tony had automatically gone for the zipper.

Tony cleared his throat. His hands withdrew. "Yeah, you've got the rest."

"You could keep going."

"I really couldn't." Tony's smile was lopsided now. He poked Peter in the chest. "Try not to strangle yourself with your t-shirt. I'm going to see if I can't dig up something for you to sleep in."

Tony came back with a t-shirt, worn soft and thin, and sweatpants. Peter hadn't strangled himself with his t-shirt, but he was having difficulty getting his jeans off his feet. Kicking feebly with his left foot wasn't helping where it was tangled around his ankle. Tony laughed at him again, but this time it was out loud.

"Let me—" He put a hand on Peter's knee, and Peter couldn't help the noise he made at that, either. Tony was kind enough to ignore it, though the laughter cut off. His hands were gentle as he straightened the denim out and pulled it off. He patted Peter's calf. "There you go. Here, sit up. Put your arms up."

Tony pulled the shirt over Peter's arms and head, pulled it down over his shoulders and sides. Peter followed directions and let Tony move him around. Unfortunately, Tony had drawn some sort of line that led to him thrusting the sweatpants at Peter's chest to take care of on his own. Peter's mournful expression did not sway him.

"It has to be easier getting them on than off."

"I don't think so." Peter looked down at his boxers. "Maybe I could just sleep naked."

"You are not taking more clothes off. For one thing, you've already proven incapable of managing it unsupervised." Tony grimaced, then shook his head. "For another, I have very specific conditions for people naked in my bed, and you have not met them."

"I would if you'd let me." At Tony's expression, eyes closed and lips drawn back, Peter said, "I didn't mean that."

Tony opened his eyes. There was an accusing line between his eyebrows. "You are a menace. You absolutely meant that."

"Yeah, but I'm drunk. You can't hold what I say against me."

"You _are_ drunk." Tony sighed. "And I promise I won't hold you to anything you say tonight. Put the pants on, keep them off, but I'm going to bed."

Peter shuffled over invitingly.

Tony's lips twitched. "My own bed. Well, not my own bed, because you're in it, but a very nice guest bed across the hall. FRIDAY will let me know if you need anything."

"Not going to tuck me in, after all?"

"You are pushing it, Parker."

Peter peered up from under his eyelashes. "You already said you weren't going to hold it against me."

"No, I said I wasn't going to hold you to it. Two separate things." Tony's lips quirked up at the corners. "But I won't hold it against you, either." He leaned over. "Budge up."

Peter lifted his hips as Tony pulled out the top sheet and covers from underneath him, then settled back against the mattress as Tony drew them over his body. Tony drew them all the way up to Peter's shoulders. He hesitated a moment, and Peter could practically see the thought, _Fuck it_ , cross his face. Tony laid a kiss on the crown of Peter's head.

"Good night, Peter," Tony said in a low, quiet voice. "Sweet dreams."

Surrounded by Tony's scent, tucked snug in his bed, Peter found it difficult to imagine they could be anything else. "Good night."

Tony paused at his bedroom door, looking back. Peter slid into sleep between one breath and the next.

—

Peter may have found it difficult to imagine his dreams could be anything but sweet in Tony's bed, but that was a failure of imagination on Peter's part. In his dreams, they were on Titan, heavy with the dust of the people Peter had just helped to save from Thanos and yet ultimately failed to keep alive. The only reassurance he had was that he'd failed himself, too.

"I don't want to go," he said. Tony's arms closed around him. From his expression, this was hard on him, too, but Peter repeated, "I don't want to go." Tony tried to reassure him, and Peter apologized, but words alone couldn't stave off death. Peter didn't want to go, but he went all the same.

He woke up wrapped in the bedding instead of Tony's arms, but it was just as hard to breathe. It wasn't anything new. Peter had nightmares now, but he was alive. Part of being alive was remembering when that wasn't always the case. He slowly inhaled, held it, then exhaled again. He pressed his hands to his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.

He told himself, _You're real. You're real. You're alive and you're real._

Other sensations filtered in. The soft cotton of Tony's t-shirt against his chest. The softer cotton of Tony's sheets against his legs. The wetness of his cheeks and his chin, dribbling down his neck. The smell of Tony, cologne and aftershave and body wash and motor oil; salt and musk and sweat and skin. FRIDAY's voice, saying, "Mr. Parker, help is on the way." Tony's footsteps, not from across the hall, but further in the apartment—the workshop maybe—then in the hall, then through the door and ending at the side of the bed.

Tony's fingers, hesitant and barely felt through the thin fabric of Tony's shirt on Peter's shoulders. "Hey. You're okay."

Peter laughed, a harsh sound that tore at his throat. "Yeah. Sure. I'm okay."

Peter felt Tony's hand start to retreat and reached out blindly. He caught Tony's forearm and pulled. Tony let out a small "oof" as he fell across the mattress and into Peter. Peter couldn't feel that bad about it, because it meant Tony was draped half over him.

"I know you don't—" Peter swallowed hard as Tony righted himself a little. "Could you just—" He let out a noise of frustration. "Would it be okay if you held me? Just for a minute."

Tony's arms were slow to go around Peter, featherlight and skittish, but Tony held him. "Whatever you need."

In the dark, where no one could see his face, Peter was able to admit, "When I can feel you, I know I'm still real."

A small, hurt sound punched out of Tony. His arms tightened. He repeated, "Whatever you need."

Peter buried his wet face in Tony's neck. At some point, Tony eased them both down into the pillows. He rubbed Peter's back, skating over the knobs of his spine and the wings of his shoulder blades. Tony said, voice quiet, "You're real. You're here. You're going to be fine."

When Peter slept again, he didn't remember his dreams.

—

Peter woke up alone, but oddly settled. He felt like he'd found his center of balance in the night. It helped that the room was no longer spinning, though it hadn't been when he'd woken the first time, either. Light was beginning to filter into the room. Peter's mouth was dry, and there was a mild throbbing behind his eyes, but it wasn't as bad as it probably would have been if Li hadn't force-fed him all those bottles of water. The downside was the pressing need his bladder was urgently trying to bring to his attention. Peter used the en suite, because if Tony hadn't minded the bed or Peter blubbering all over him last night, then he wasn't likely to begrudge Peter's use of his personal toilet.

Now that he was sober, Peter noticed more details, like how depressingly pared down everything in Tony's quarters were. The bathroom was all glass and porcelain and steel, the only nods to comfort the soft fabric of the hand towels and what seemed like nice hand soap. Peter wondered if it had been a bit more personalized when Tony had lived with Pepper Potts. As things stood, it was like Tony had gone down a checklist of bare essentials and not bothered past that.

FRIDAY directed Peter to the kitchen and the section of cabinet with glasses. Peter got water from the tap. Tony made a face as he padded in on bare feet.

"You know you can help yourself to anything in the fridge."

"Water shouldn't have bubbles in it." Peter should probably feel awkward. He'd drunk-dialed Tony, made a failed pass at him, then had a minor breakdown against his shoulder in the dead of the night. Peter did feel awkward. It didn't stop him from refilling his glass. "Thank you for your help last night."

Tony made a dismissive gesture. "Any time."

"Did you sleep at all?" Peter couldn't help asking.

"Yes." Tony's closed-off expression didn't invite prying questions like, "More than a few minutes?" or "In an actual bed instead of slumped against your workbench?"

Peter drank his second glass of water. Tony started a pot of coffee and pulled out yogurt and a bunch of leafy greens. "Did you want breakfast?"

Peter watched in morbid fascination as Tony fed it all into a blender. "Is that what you're calling that?"

Tony waved a hand carelessly. "There's other stuff. Cereal? I think I have cereal. Explore. Help yourself to whatever you find."

Peter went on a scavenger hunt for sustenance. There were eggs, but no oil or butter. There was cereal, but no milk. There were three boxes of plain granola bars. In the end, he drank one of Tony's dark green smoothies. It wasn't good, but it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever put in his mouth.

"High praise," Tony said dryly.

"Thank you for sharing," Peter said.

"Next time I have you over, I'll order groceries," Tony promised before taking a sudden gulp of his smoothie.

"Will there be a next time?" Peter asked carefully.

Tony's eyes were sharp. He put his glass down. "Do you want there to be?"

"If I don't have to get drunk first." Peter had gone through three bed frames in high school. He didn't need extra challenges to his hard-won control over his strength. He especially didn't want to out himself to one of his contemporaries because he was too drunk to judge the proper force he should use for turning a doorknob at another house party.

"That's never been a prerequisite for coming over." Tony trailed his fingers through the condensation beading on the glass. "You're always welcome."

It may have been awkward, but Peter had a habit of facing bad situations head on. "Even though I—" Peter gestured vaguely.

"Last night's agreement only covers what you said _while drunk_." Peter couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a warning or encouragement.

Peter put his glass next to Tony's, intensely aware of the inches of space between them, of the fact that he was only wearing boxers and Tony's old t-shirt. "You can hold me to whatever you want. I didn't say anything I didn't mean."

"What about that you didn't mean it?"

"Okay. That, I didn't mean."

Tony's fingers traced the line of Peter's jaw. His eyes glittered as he dropped his hand. "Finish your smoothie." He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to dig out a spare toothbrush for you."

Peter finished his smoothie in three long swallows. He rinsed out his and Tony's glasses, and when he caught up to Tony in his en suite, Tony had pulled out a couple manual toothbrushes still in their packaging. They contrasted with the electric toothbrush sitting in its charging dock. Tony stood there, staring down at them on the glass counter.

"This is where I'm supposed to give some speech about how you can change your mind at any time. That you're not obligated to anything." His hands clutched at the counter, palms denting where they were digging into the edge. He briefly closed his eyes. He shook his head. When he looked up, his eyes were dark. His voice was rough. He looked as though he stood upon a precipice. "If you really want this, I need you to mean it."

Peter felt like he stood upon steady ground as he said, "I do."

He chose the blue toothbrush. His left arm caught Tony's right as he took the tube of toothpaste and squeezed a small dollop over the bristles. Tony did the same with his electric one. Side by side, they brushed their teeth. For two minutes, it was like a glimpse into a possible future together, domestic and ordinary. Peter wanted it, maybe almost as much as Tony, whose hands were shaking as he replaced his toothbrush on its charging dock. Peter set his on the plastic casing it had come in. Peter sipped from the same cap as Tony for the mouthwash and didn't think of indirect kisses, too preoccupied with the dark smudges like bruises under Tony's eyes, with the lines carved deep with stress into his cheeks and forehead, with the thought of pressing a kiss directly into the corner of his mouth. It had been months since Thanos, but sometimes Tony looked like he had aged years. They took turns spitting into the sink.

"Hey, Tony?" Peter rested his hands on Tony's shoulders. "You can change your mind. You're not—" Peter swallowed as Tony's warm, callused hands cradled his jaw. "You're not obligated to anything. But I want this and I really hope you do, too."

"It should scare you how much I want this."

Peter smiled, wide and almost dizzy with it. "I have nothing to be afraid of." Tony's eyes were unreadable, but Peter knew. He _knew_. "It's you. You'd never hurt me."

Slowly, inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, Tony brought their lips together, gentle and sweet. Peter leaned into it. He deepened it. When it was over, he turned his head and kissed Tony's left palm.

Tony let out a shuddering breath. "How do you feel about waffles? Pancakes? There has to be something I can feed you that you'll enjoy more than that breakfast smoothie."

Peter felt his smile turn wicked.

"Oh. Oh, no. I am not that kind of girl, Mr. Parker. I require at least one date before letting anyone in my bed."

"You already let me in your bed, and three decades of tabloids and gossip sites would disagree with you."

"Maybe I had a looser definition of date in my youth." Tony's smile was carefree, but he was looking at Peter's mouth. Peter wet his lower lip, and Tony bit his own. "Come on. Breakfast. You can catch me up on how your semester is going."

—

They got dressed. Peter put on his jeans from the night before, and Tony lent him another t-shirt. They went to a diner where Tony ordered coffee that smelled like it had been on the burner since before the sun came up and Peter got a stack of fluffy pancakes bigger than his head. They were much, much better than the smoothie.

They talked about Peter's classes, but they also talked about how Peter was settling into juggling university with patrolling, the new web fluid formula Peter was tinkering with, the entirely unnecessary new protocols Tony had added to Peter's suit during the last upgrade, and whether he needed a version with jet boots. Partway through breakfast, Tony's ankle knocked into Peter's as he shifted, and Tony stopped, kept it there, burning like a brand through two layers of denim. Tony stole a bite of Peter's pancakes, but declared his morning smoothie superior.

"You have no taste," Peter said solemnly, like he was delivering unfortunate news, and shoveled in another warm, buttery bite soaked in syrup.

"My taste is impeccable." Tony pointedly claimed Peter's free hand in his own, but then he followed it up with another swig of his burnt coffee, so that wasn't as flattering as it could've been.

Tony drove Peter back to campus, though Peter thought breakfast definitely should've counted as a date.

"Slow your roll, Speed Racer. I'm not going to disappear on you." Something pained and awful lurked in the back of Tony's smile. "If you don't have anything more pressing, we can have dinner tonight, but I have some things I need to take care of."

They couldn't have been that important, though, because Tony took the long route, and when he dropped Peter off, he parked in the loading zone, undid his seatbelt, and climbed half onto the gear shaft to kiss Peter goodbye for several minutes. Peter had beard burn on his face and halfway down his neck when he got out of the car. In the reflection of the tinted passenger window, his hair was an absolute disaster. He was grinning from ear to ear. When he turned back at the double doors, Tony's car was still there. Peter waved once and went inside.

—

His roommate was out again. Ned was in the group chat, but Peter didn't know how to broach the topic, "Oh, by the way, I literally just started dating Tony Stark." There was a message on the whiteboard from Li that said, "You owe me details." "Details" was underlined twice. Everything on Peter's side of the room was just how he'd left it.

Peter flopped over onto his bed. He was still wearing Tony's shirt, and it smelled like him. Putting his hands over his face, Peter made a noise he'd never admit to, somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. He let himself revel in giddy disbelief for a full five minutes. Then he got up and got out his physics textbook, because coursework waited for no one, and he really, really wanted to spend the rest of his weekend doing something (someone) else.

—

The car Tony picked him up in that evening was a self-driving sedan, and Peter wondered how much of that choice was inspired by Tony wanting to get work done on the way over and how much ... wasn't. Peter was wearing a new shirt, but Tony didn't ask what happened to his t-shirt. It was for the best; Tony was never getting it back. Peter was starting the stealing clothes phase early.

Tony offered up a chaste, closed mouth kiss when Peter climbed in the car and a filthy, open mouth make out session when Peter climbed onto his lap.

"We—oh—we have reservations in thirty minutes." Tony's hands were palming Peter's ass, though, his fingers kneading and digging into the muscle.

"Cancel them. We can order pizza." Peter sucked a mark behind Tony's ear.

"I wanted—" Tony hissed out a breath as Peter got the tips of his fingers down the front of his pants. "I wanted to take you someplace nice, show you how serious I am. Treat you—fuck." Peter had given up on getting the rest of his hand past Tony's belt and settled for rubbing him through the front of his dress pants. Tony bucked up into Peter's hand, seeking friction. His eyes were wide, a little bit wild, as he started to pull at Peter's belt. "I want to treat you like you're special. Because you are. But if you want, I'll settle for blowing you in the backseat like we're _both_ impatient teenagers."

"I just want you."

"I'm getting that."

Tony pushed Peter away, but only so he could press Peter into the bench and pull down his pants. He undid his own and got his hand on his dick at the same time as he got his mouth on Peter's. Tony didn't wait, just swallowed Peter down like he was desperate for it.

It wasn't Peter's first blowjob, but he came embarrassingly fast, unable to dial back and detach from the wet and slick and warmth, from the sight of Tony's lips stretched around his dick and his face twisted like it literally hurt how much he was enjoying himself. Tony sucked and licked Peter through the aftershocks, then buried his face in the crease of Peter's thigh as he brought himself off. Peter reached for Tony, but Tony very firmly put Peter's hands on his hair and bit at the meat of Peter's thigh. Open-mouthed and panting, Tony gasped against Peter's skin, then groaned, shuddering all over.

He patted Peter's stomach with his clean hand. "Be a dear and hand me a tissue."

There were some tucked discreetly into the ledge behind the bench. Peter didn't know if this was what they were intended for, but he handed Tony the box. Tony smiled tiredly and tidied up, tucking them both in and zipping them up.

"See? We can make our reservation." Tony's hair was a mess. His lips were puffy. Bruises were blooming on his neck.

Peter planted a kiss on Tony's salty mouth. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to let us in like this."

"They've seen worse." Tony grinned. "From me, even."

"Or you could take me home and see how ridiculously short refractory periods are when you're eighteen and have a healing factor." This, Peter had done extensive testing on. "For science."

Tony snorted. "Oh, well, if it's for science—"

"Didn't you say you wanted to do more testing, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked, projecting his best innocent expression.

"Menace," Tony said fondly. "Yeah, we'll do science to you, Mr. Parker." He paused long enough for Peter to smile victoriously, then added, "After dinner."

"I think you get off on being withholding," Peter grumbled as they got out of the car.

"Here in the land of adults, we call that delayed gratification." Tony winked and surreptitiously pinched Peter's ass. "Good things come to those who wait."

—

Good things definitely came after dinner. So did Peter. Again and again and again.

Tony had actually gotten out a tablet and was taking notes. This time, Peter's reactions to Tony's praise and the words, "I know you can take more," were entirely appropriate.

"You're doing great," Tony said, and, "That's it, open up for me," and, "Perfect, you're perfect."

"Please, Mr. Stark," Peter said, overstimulated and out of his mind with it, unsure if it was too much or not enough, if he was about to come or cresting higher, all his focus on Tony's hands, on Tony's mouth, on Tony's words gently flaying the last of his defenses, cutting Peter open and making him beg for more. "Please, please, please."

"You're so good," Tony said. "You can do this. Just a little more. Come on, one more time. For science."

Peter laughed, crying a little, and clutched at Tony's hand. He thought, _Come on, Spider-Man_ , the situation diametrically opposed to getting a building dropped on him, but which was pushing him past all previous limits. His last orgasm punched the breath out of him in a strangled sob.

Tony petted him through it. "That enough data for you?"

"Getting tired?" Peter asked. His voice came out more breathless than cocky.

"Maybe I'm afraid we're going to break your dick." Tony brushed his lips against Peter's forehead. "I'm kind of getting attached. I'd rather like to have access to it in the future."

"I'm fine."

"You're exhausted. Shower or bath?" Peter struggled to sit up, and Tony said, "Bath. I'll set it to start. Be right back."

Tony got Peter into the bath, sleepy and sated and starting to drift off, before he asked, tone entirely too light, "Nightmares, huh?"

In the same tone, Peter said, "Insomnia, huh?"

"Since before you were born," Tony agreed.

Peter sighed. He slid down until the water came up to his chin. Tony's bathtub was ridiculous, wide and deep. It could have easily fit Tony, too, but Tony sat on the ledge. Peter would have preferred Tony behind him, where he couldn't see his expression and could instead feel his arms around him.

"Since Titan. About Titan," Peter said.

"Yeah," Tony said heavily. "Me, too, when I can manage it." He carded soapy fingers through Peter's hair. "Want to stay the night and fail at restful sleep together?"

"You make it sound so appealing."

"Don't I?"

Peter stayed the night. It didn't help with the nightmares, but when he woke up, Tony was there. It probably wasn't healthy to use Tony's body under his as a measure of what was real. From the way Tony clutched him close, he didn't mind.

—

In the morning, the kitchen had actual groceries, including milk, canola oil, butter, and bacon. "Let me know if there's something I missed." Tony sipped at one of his unappealing smoothies. "I don't think I could stand diner coffee too many mornings in a row."

Peter stared at the cooking oil. "You don't even cook. Using the blender doesn't count."

"I can cook. I just choose not to unless I'm apologizing for something." Tony put his glass on the counter. "Besides, it's not for me. I've got a cute new boyfriend, and apparently he needs feeding in the morning if I want to convince him to keep spending the night."

"I'm going back to the dorms tonight."

Tony shrugged. "On the weekends, then."

Peter would like to say he wasn't already mentally claiming a side of Tony's bed, but that would be a lie. He pulled out a skillet and cooked up a few eggs and the whole package of bacon. Tony tried to snag a piece, and Peter smacked his hand before he'd thought it through.

Tony smiled. "So that's a yes to stocking more bacon for you when I order groceries on Thursday?"

Hesitantly, Peter said, "Buy bread, too. So we can have toast?"

"Whatever you want." Tony leaned in to kiss Peter and, while he was distracted, stole two more pieces.

—

The second week since the disastrous party that actually turned out pretty well for Peter, Li caught up to him. "So. Tony Stark."

"Tony Stark," Peter agreed.

"What the hell?"

"We're friends." More than friends, though Peter didn't know Li well enough to tell him that. He'd only just managed to tell Ned.

"If I invite you to a house party, will he show up again?"

"Probably not."

Li looked mildly regretful. "Probably for the best. You kind of got banned from anything thrown at our house." At Peter's expression, Li said, "Hey, we have a rule. No trying to die of alcohol poisoning on Greek grounds. You broke it, you've gotta live with the consequences."

"I wasn't trying."

"Eight Jell-O shots and two cups of tub juice in an _hour_." Li clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You are a legend. A very stupid legend."

Peter could live with that. There were any number of things he could live with, now. He was glad to get the chance.

—

The next time Peter got drunk, he was in Tony's workshop, sprawled naked against a bunch of cushions on the floor, and maybe sulking a bit. Tony had also been drinking—to keep him company, supposedly, but Peter suspected Tony had thought putting a glass in his hands was the best way to keep them to himself. It hadn't worked out that way, though Tony's plans were staying mostly on track.

"When you said power testing, this wasn't what I had in mind," Peter said. Honestly, he'd been hoping they were going to try to break their last record. Maybe it was greedy, but Peter had only come once tonight, which wasn't enough to take the edge off the underlying thrum of arousal from Tony's promise to do more science together and the constant weight of Tony's continued, unremitting attention.

"It's good to know how fast your body clears toxins. As I'm not interested in actually poisoning you, a bottle of Blue Label will have to do." Tony handed Peter a new tablet, because he'd pressed a little too hard and cracked the screen on the last one. "Try not to break this one."

Every twenty minutes, Peter was expected to answer the same set of questions and run through the same dexterity and hand-eye coordination tests. Peter dutifully chose a number and then the answer, "About the same."

They'd been dating a little over a month. This was the sixth Friday night Peter was spending at Tony's place. It was entirely too soon for Tony to say, voice casual as he picked up Peter's foot and dug his thumb into the arch, "So you've been spending a lot of time here."

"Only the weekends." Peter chose a two for the question tracking nausea.

"Every weekend." Tony's fingers moved up to rub the ball of Peter's foot. "This isn't a complaint. Far from it." Peter couldn't help the groan as Tony found and soothed a sore spot, convincing a too-tight muscle to loosen. "I thought maybe you'd like to start keeping a few things here besides that spare toothbrush."

"You don't get to ask me to move in while we're drunk."

"I'm not asking you to move in." Tony started in on Peter's ankle. "You're not ready for that." Peter noted that Tony hadn't said that _he_ wasn't ready for that. "I'm saying that you've stolen enough of my shirts to have made room for a few spare changes of clothes if you want to keep them here. Just something for you to keep in mind." Tony pressed a kiss to the side of Peter's ankle, lips lingering on the jut of bone. "When you're done with the dexterity test, want another blowjob?"

Peter felt a flush creep up his neck. "Yeah, okay."

"So enthusiastic," Tony murmured, but he licked where he'd kissed, dragging his tongue halfway up Peter's calf.

Peter fluttered his lashes and affected a breathy tone. "Please, Mr. Stark, put your mouth on my dick."

Tony shot him a sharp look, but his lips twitched. "Finish your tests."

Peter did. Tony killed the next ten minutes between tests sucking Peter's dick and then licking him clean. He killed the remaining five with his head pillowed in Peter's lap, staring up at him quietly. His hair was sticky with product, but Peter threaded his fingers through it anyway. When the alarm went off, Tony kissed Peter's thigh and pulled away.

Later that night, curled into bed together, Tony said, "I'm not asking, but would it really be so terrible?"

Peter didn't pretend he didn't know what Tony was talking about. Carefully, he said, "I think it would be easy to become too dependent on this. On you."

Tony ran his fingers through Peter's hair. "Yeah, codependency probably shouldn't be one of our relationship goals." He kissed Peter's forehead. "Ever considered seeing a therapist? Since ... everything, PTSD has become pretty common. You wouldn't necessarily have to compromise your secret identity."

"Have you?"

Tony sighed. "I'm not exactly a role model here."

Peter stroked Tony's cheek. "I'll think about it."

When he woke up, Tony was right there, watching over Peter in the dark. Peter only had to reach out for Tony's arms to close around him. The weight of his body was an anchor to reality. To himself, Peter could admit that he was already a bit too dependent.

He closed his eyes and held on.

—

On the one year anniversary since Titan, Peter skipped all his classes and went over to Tony's. Peter didn't expect Tony to be in—had, in fact, planned to spend the day curled up in Tony's bed wrapped in his bedding and surrounded by his scent—but Tony was in the workshop, AC/DC blasting. He turned off the music as Peter came in.

"Playing hooky?" The thin cheer spread over Tony's face slid off. He sighed. "Come here."

Peter thought he could happily spend the rest of his life in Tony's arms. He tried really hard not to think about the fact he already had.

—

When he woke up, Tony was already curled tight around him. Tony's face was buried in Peter's neck. He was trembling.

"Sorry," Tony said, voice rough. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Peter kissed the top of Tony's head and smoothed a hand down his back. "I don't mind." That was an understatement. This, right here, holding Tony and being held, was better than any dream sleep provided. "Did you want to—?"

"It's not always about sex, kid."

Peter hooked his leg around Tony's. "Yeah. Sometimes it's about comfort."

Tony huffed out a breath of air, moist and warm, into the side of Peter's neck. It wasn't quite a laugh. "Who's going to be comforting whom, here?"

"I think it goes both ways."

Tony kissed Peter's neck. "Yeah. It does."

They indulged in some mutual comfort until Tony's morning alarm sounded. Tony turned it off and came back to bed just long enough to bring Peter off one last time. Every line of his body screamed his reluctance when he pulled away.

"I finally get to see the downside to you visiting on a weekday," Tony said. "I really don't want to go to work today."

"I have class." Peter didn't want to go, either. Maybe it was too much, but, "I can come back tonight. If that's okay."

"You know that you're welcome whenever you want."

—

The thing was, Peter always wanted it. He could distract himself and he could get caught up in other things—following along in a lecture or focused on rescuing someone's cat where it had gotten trapped on a neighbor's balcony—but for the last year, there was a part of him that was still back on Titan, turning to dust, and for the last several months, there was the knowledge that he could find a little bit of relief from that in Tony Stark's arms.

It was getting better. He was dealing with it. Soon after it had happened, he'd joined a support group online that was filled with people who had found suddenly and unexpectedly dying—even if they were subsequently revived—to be somewhat traumatizing.

But he was aware of how easy it was to depend on Tony, to use his presence as a particularly talkative security blanket to hide from his own feelings. He wanted more than that. He wanted them to be more than that.

Tony might have made space in his closet and life for Peter, but Peter was hesitant to take it, to take advantage.

He went back to Tony's that night, but he didn't stay.

—

Time passed.

Tony took him out for dates. They spent the weekends together. Every rare once in a while, Peter would drop in on a weeknight and climb into Tony's bed and into his arms, and every time, Tony welcomed him.

One such night, Peter was pulling back on his jeans, perched on the edge of the mattress with Tony naked and sprawled out behind him across both halves of the bed. When he looked back, Tony had a hand over his eyes.

"Are you—is something wrong?" Peter asked.

Tony's mouth moved into something that resembled a smile. "I'm fine."

Tony didn't sound fine. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm good. You don't need to worry about me, kid."

Peter frowned. He leaned over and gently, gently pulled Tony's hand away. His eyes were closed, but wet at the corners. Tony opened his eyes and looked at Peter. He sighed.

"Peter, I love you, but I promise, you can't fix this. I'm not—I'm not always in a good place, and that's got nothing to do with you. I'm fine. This is fine."

"I can stay tonight," Peter offered.

Tony barked a laugh. "No. No, that's not—you don't need to do that." He reclaimed his hand and rubbed at his face. "You're welcome any time, but please don't stay when you don't want to."

"I want to." Peter ran his hand through his hair. "But if you'd rather be alone ... "

Tony closed his eyes again. Peter waited him out. When Tony opened them, there was something fragile waiting there. "Please. Stay. I don't want to be alone tonight."

Peter popped the button on his jeans, skimmed them off, and slid back into bed. Tony made room for him.

"FRIDAY. Lights."

In the dark, holding Tony and hoping his touch was half the balm for Tony that it was for him, Peter said, "Tony, I—" His throat closed over, _I love you, too_. He settled for, "Any time you need me, I'm here."

Tony petted his hair. "That's sweet, but I meant it. You can't fix this."

"But do I help?"

He heard the click of Tony's throat as he swallowed. "Yeah. You help."

That made it a little easier. It wasn't taking advantage. Tony also wanted this. Peter said, "You help me, too."

—

He stayed over more often after that.

—

"Did you want to room together next year?" Jordan, his usually absent roommate, asked. "We get along well enough, but I'm also thinking about getting an off-campus apartment with my girlfriend."

"We pretty much never see each other," Peter said, surprised both by the question and that Jordan had been there when he'd rolled in for a change of clothes the morning after a night spent with Tony.

"Yeah, that's why we get along so well." Jordan smiled. "Think about it. We're supposed to put in for rooming assignments this week."

Peter thought about it. He thought about it through English 102 and he thought about it through group discussion and he thought about it as he webbed up a mugger. He thought about it as he packed a bag and as he crossed town. He thought about it as he made a nest for himself in Tony's covers.

He thought about it as Tony walked in the room and said, "FRIDAY alerted me you were in here. Did I forget a date?"

Peter blurted out, "I don't want to move in together."

Tony stood there. He blinked. "Um. That's. Perfectly fine." He had the expression of someone trying to figure out if they'd forgotten a previous conversation. "You don't have to. I'm happy with what we have right now."

Peter put his forehead against his knees. "I don't—I meant, I'm not ready for that. It's too big a step. But. I brought over some clothes and—and I'd like it if I kept more than a spare toothbrush here. If that's still okay."

He felt a weight on his head, Tony's palm and fingers cradling the base of his skull. "I'll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. You're always welcome here."

Peter believed him.

—

At the end of the academic year, Peter was invited to another house party by a classmate and casual friend. He wasn't trying to impress anyone and he had a pretty good idea of his limits. He had two Solo cups of cheap beer and then stuck to off-brand Cola. The music was a little too loud. As the evening progressed, people stood a little too close and got a little too handsy for being virtual strangers. Under the smell of too much patchouli, the place reeked of marijuana. Someone was throwing up in the downstairs bathroom, which just added to the general atmosphere of _all too much_.

Peter waved at his friend and went out to sit on the front porch. He pulled out his phone.

"Enjoying celebrating the end of finals?" Tony asked.

"Not really," Peter said. "I was hoping my boyfriend could come pick me up."

"You don't sound drunk this time," Tony said, but Peter could hear Tony setting something down in the background.

"I'm just tired," Peter admitted. "I don't want to swing into the side of a building because I closed my eyes when I yawned."

"I'll be there in a bit."

"I'll be waiting."

Tony didn't have to help him into the car this time. Peter didn't need to be drunk to look his fill during the drive. On the elevator ride up to the apartment, Peter leaned into Tony, but it was only because he wanted to. Peter had pajamas there to change into. When he slid into bed, Tony tucked him in, but with the understanding that when Tony was done for the night, he'd come back and join him. Tony pressed his goodnight kiss to Peter's mouth.

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

Letting his eyelids drop closed, Peter tried.

**Author's Note:**

> Content advisories: Drinking by characters under the age of 21, drunk sex between two characters in a relationship, age gap, mental health issues (from IW and otherwise) and issues stemming from them, characters not coping well.


End file.
